The Bird Nest..

This past weekend, I sat outside the house I’ve had all my childhood memories in… I laid down on the concert and looked up at the sky. My mom was sitting in a folding chair, my brother on a stepping stool and my dad on the concrete next to me. My sweet little kitty, Boo, was chasing leaves; Lucy, princess kitty, was walking around aimlessly, and Luke, my dog, was tied around the garage door track. As I looked up at the sky I noticed the trees, the overcast sky, and finally a bird’s nest in the tree looming above me. I thought of home, and how much home means to me. When most people think of a home, they may think of a structure, a house, with a front yard, a doorbell, and mailbox. However, I don’t just think of the physical “home.” My warm bed, the blankets that lay across the couch, and the shoes in the middle of the floor always come to mind, but there is so much more to my home than that. To me my home is my perfect vacation spot… That stress free location where everyone knows my name, where I don’t have to worry about what I look like and just visit with those people I haven’t seen in a while (in my case recently “a while” is at the most 2 weeks). People make my home what it really is to me; going home and feeling loved by friends and family is an irreplaceable feeling.  

Now I’m not saying that you can’t have more than one home… but there is just always that one place that we all feel secure. We can be who we really are, and do the things we want to do. Sometimes I feel like people forget how important it is to be who they really are. As college students, we always have an image that we have put on for everyone we have met, hopefully, we have each been true to ourselves and our image is who we really are… but regardless, when we go home to visit mom and dad, we wear sweat pants, flip flops, and possibly no bra, depending how lazy we really are… guy readers, no bra hopefully… My point? Recently back home, has been my only safe haven. Am I homesick? The simplest answer would be yes. The complicated answer would be so confusing, very few people would understand.

Well as I was looking up at the bird nest that afternoon, I wondered how often baby birds visit home, if they do at all… How much they remember, if they visit their brothers and sisters… Now as my readers you guys are all laughing at me, but this is a very serious thought. I mean, if I were a bird, I’d fly home probably every weekend to get a decent meal and a hang out in a nest, visit my childhood birdy friends. Okay, even though I sound ridiculous, all I’m trying to say is the worst thing you can do is take advantage of being home; because one day you’ll realize it’s the only place you want to be, it’ll be the only people you want to see.    

Keep reading, 

Sarah Ann Weaver